


The Things We Create

by Bunnywith



Category: A Matter of Life and Death (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuddles, M/M, Mild Angst, because Life is an angsty boy, rated teen for vaguely gross descriptions of what death was like before death, sappy happy laying together in a field, that sentence is weird out of context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 08:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywith/pseuds/Bunnywith
Summary: Life and Death sit together and talk about flowers and death before Death.





	The Things We Create

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSnipster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSnipster/gifts).



> So I discovered A Matter of Life and Death this week and I've already read it twice. It's made me want to write again for the first time in awhile, so thank you to TheSnipster for this amazing webcomic and her wonderful characters!

He was alone when he first sat down in the field, but he could feel Death’s aura when he teleported behind him. The others used to say it was creepy, but to Life, there has always been something about him, about his aura, that drew him in. He has since decided it’s the fact they are both part of the balance. Death has always drawn him in, and if Death’s words are to be believed (Life can hardly dare to believe them, they make him so happy), Life has always drawn Death in. Without Life, there is no Death. Without Death, there is no Life.

Life is sitting in the grass, eyes down at a rose bush when Death sits beside him, their hands nearly touching, the cold of Death’s fingers so close to Life’s warm hands. Of everything Life has ever created, flowers are one of his favorites. Death has told him many times that flowers are his favorite as well, with stars and love in his eyes as he handles soft white flowers in his pale hands. While performing his job during his long life, Death has had more than enough time to travel the mortal realm and explore the myriad of flowers Life has created and spread throughout the world. Wherever he goes, there are flowers and plants and nature, and no matter how awful his job is, no matter the amount of humans or creatures he has to send off all at once, when his job is done there are still flowers reaching up toward the sun with soft petals to caress and feel Life’s love around him.

“What inspired you to create these in the first place?” Death asks him softly.

“Roses?” 

“Flowers.” 

Life casts his eyes down at the rose bush, then to smaller white flowers growing wild in the grass they’re sitting on. Some yards away are purple flowers, dozens of them growing up the stalk of a plant. A tree nearby flowers, preparing seeds that will be carried off on the wind, each seed ready to become another tree and produce more flowers. Death loves the variety Life has come up with. They all smell different, they look different, they grow different, and he loves hearing how Life imagined them all, loves seeing his sketches, wishes he’d create the sketches he deemed failures because Death loves them all and loves everything Life makes. He loves sitting here, surrounded by Life’s creations, with him. 

“I wanted to make something that I thought was beautiful. I tried to sketch them, but I couldn't draw what I was thinking of. So I tried to just make them without the sketches, but they weren’t right. Everything I made was still beautiful in its own way, but not the way I wanted it to be. It wasn't until I made these that I got close to what I was picturing.” Life touches the roses, appraising them with the eyes of an artist, wondering what he could have done better, what he could do differently next time.

Then it occurs to Death that as beautiful as this world is, what Life sees in his thoughts and strives to create is even more breathtaking. He wishes he could see his thoughts, see what he wants to bring into this world. All he can do is ask him and try to picture it for himself or try to encourage Life to try again, tell him how much he longs to see that passion on his face when he creates.

“But they were still wrong. They were exactly what I was picturing, but they were too perfect. So I added the thorns.” He brushes his fingers over the stem and winces when a thorn pierces his honeydew skin. There is a drop of blood on his skin now, deep red against the green hue, and Death finds he can't look away, wants to take Life’s hand and kiss the blood away. It’s reminiscent of the rose petals against the leaves, and Death wonders what inspired Life to create a flower with such deep red petals. 

“Then they felt right. They're beautiful, but they sting.” 

He licks the blood off his finger and Death is mesmerized by the quick motion of his tongue, his eyes distant and unseeing even as he stares at the roses that turn innocently upward, as though their thorns haven't claimed his blood. As it happens so often, it seems Life’s thoughts have turned dark, drifting back to whatever incident or thought prompted the creation of the roses. So many of these painful incidents seemed to have happened before Death woke up, so he can’t help but wonder...

“What was death like before I woke up?”

The suddenness of the question pulls Life from his dark thoughts, but he seems to struggle with the question. Despite how hard he’s tried to overcome his fear of Death’s job, he knows Life hates to think about things ending. Death is about to retract his question when Life finally begins to speak. His words are careful, measured. They spent so long misunderstanding each other and he doesn't want to be misunderstood now.

“Not like it is now. There was still death, but before it was… Awful. Things would wither away slowly and rot, with souls still trapped inside. I could… I could hear them. They would scream and cry and they wanted to know what was happening, but I didn’t know either. I didn’t really know what death was, I couldn’t explain it. Not that it would’ve helped even if I knew, because I couldn’t free them. That ‘cord’ you sever that releases their soul? It wouldn’t break, and it kept them bound there, to their bodies. Eventually they would… They would rot, and break free. But they didn't know how to go to Ithis, and I didn't know how to tell them to get there. And since they didn't go to Ithis, they weren't cleansed of their memories, so when they were reborn, they were even more confused than when they were souls. And souls that should have gone to Nim were reborn. It was a mess.”

He fell quiet then, fingertips dancing over the thorns of the rose bush again, until Death reached over and took his hand away. Life’s fingers closed around his hand.

“I spent a lot of time on Ithis. It was too much, hearing everything… Begging. But the silence in Ithis was unbearable too.” The other gods had been created by that time, but after so long alone, it was hard to relate to others. He supposed that was another reason he had always been drawn in by Death. He had always been alone, and Life knew, more than anyone else, what it felt like to be alone.

Death feels Life squeezing his hand harder. His gaze is far away and Death hates it when he looks so distant, so far from him, so far from everything. He moves closer, their hips touching, and Life lays his head on Death’s shoulder, eyes closing as Death winds an arm around his waist. Death feels cold but his presence is still a comfort to Life, a reminder that he isn’t alone anymore. Maybe Death can’t create like he can, but he’s the only one as passionate about his work as he is.

“You still hear them, you said?” Death recalls the incident when they came upon a beached whale that yelled at Life and knocked him in the head before flying off to Ithis.

“I hear the soul moths, yeah. I still hear them when you or your servants sever the soul from the body. But it's still quieter now.” There would always be voices constantly at the back of his head. He could hear humans, animals, plants, all of them dying, but their cries were cut off as Death’s servants directed them toward Ithis or Nim. It was so much easier to bear now than before.

Life thinks back to a time when he thought Death’s job was to kill. He’d felt guilty, as though he was part of it for standing back and letting Death kill everyone and everything he had ever made. This world was his ongoing masterpiece and it had hurt him to his essence, to his very core, to think that Death was undoing his work, soul by soul. Death has since explained himself and now Life knows better, even if it still hurts to see them go. But he has grown to see the beauty in it, in their connection and the balance they are both part of. 

And now he thinks back to his first creations, the ones who died without Death to guide them on their way, the ones who died screaming and in agony, trapped and unable to break away, their voices still echoing in Life’s head. He will live with the guilt forever for what he put them through, without his opposite to end them swiftly and peacefully.

He buries his face in Death’s arm, feeling his cold skin through the fabric, his arms going around Death’s waist.

“Life?”

“I can't hide my face in your arm, it's too skinny!” Life looks up at him and pouts. Death smiles and laughs, and lays back in the grass. Life follows, his head still on Death’s shoulder and a pout still on his face.

“You’re boney.” He adjusts himself, his head on Death’s chest now. He feels Death hold him closer, his cold fingers stroking Life’s waist. Across the field Life can see a deer grazing with her babies, their legs still wobbly. By the tree he sees a baby bird trying to fly for the first time with watchful parents nearby. Bees fly overhead and land in the rose bush, gathering pollen. All of them are souls that Life made, that Death unmade, and sent to be reincarnated, to live again. He wonders who they were before, if they were human or animals. Everything around them has lived and died before, everything around them has been touched by the two of them. It still hurts and may always hurt to see his creations end, but the result is a world that has been recreated by both of them.

Looking up he can see a small smile on Death’s face and feel his hand sneak up Life’s untucked shirt to stroke his bare skin. Life shivers and digs his fingers into the front of Death’s jacket and tries to store away this moment forever, because right now, he feels truly happy.


End file.
